


Happy New Year

by rpfwriters



Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, Arrow (TV 2012) RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Language, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Sex, Sexual Content, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-05 23:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18376640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rpfwriters/pseuds/rpfwriters
Summary: You're invited to a New Year's Eve party thrown by Stephen Amell.





	Happy New Year

With a tired sigh, you dropped to the couch, although you were careful enough not to spill the drink in your hand. The last thing you wanted to do was spill wine on a couch that wasn’t yours, especially when the couch in question belonged to a certain celebrity crush of yours; Stephen Amell.

Being a friend of a friend earned you an invite to the New Year party he had thrown, but that friendship didn’t really mean he  _knew_  you, and you had made your peace with that. Sort of. Sure, you still wanted him to stroll over and call you beautiful, cup your face in his hands and kiss you breathless, but that wouldn’t happen. Not tonight, not ever.

So, for the entirety of the party, you kept your distance, watching as other women flirted shamelessly with him, earning a playful smirk from the man of the hour, as those women’s hands toyed with his dark bow tie, their nails scraping against the hem of his short sleeve shirt, skirting over the muscles that twitched under his skin…

Yeah, you kept your distance alright, if only to keep from embarrassing yourself. You could have sworn you saw him looking your way on several occasions, looking at you with an admiring eye, and there were a couple of times where the two of you had crossed paths, but you made quick work of excusing yourself, mainly to top off your drink.

Somewhere in between drinking and taking numerous trips to the balcony and the ball dropping, you found yourself in the large living room, two or three people trying to gather their jackets while waiting for their Uber, and since you hadn’t seen Stephen anywhere around, you let down your guard and made yourself comfortable on the couch.

Every muscle in your body was lax, pleasantly warm from the wine, your brain buzzed happily, and your inhibitions had long since disappeared, so when someone sat next to you, their head on your shoulder, you draped your arm over their shoulders and hummed contentedly.

“Alone at last,” he murmured, nuzzling into your neck, the short hairs atop his head tickling you.

You giggled and squirmed a little. “That tickles, Stephen.”

He couldn’t help but do it again. “Sorry,” he breathed. “Not really. I mean… I like your laugh.”

Nope, he didn’t just say that. It was all in your head. Had to be.

“Shuddup,” you groaned before taking another long drink of wine. The skin of your throat went crimson, growing warm at the burn of wine, at the soft strands of his hair, at the whisper of his nose…

“God, you smell good,” Stephen rasped, his breath hot on your skin, pulling goosebumps to the surface.

“Stephen,” you weakly protested, your hand gripping the part of his shirt you could reach given the fact that your arm was still around the wide expanse of his shoulders. “We shouldn’t… I mean… is this what you… or are you,”

“I’m not drunk,” he interrupted, sitting back to look at you. “I mean, yeah, I’ve been drinking, but I’m not  _drunk_.”

Using his shoulder for support, you worried your bottom lip as you shifted to sit up, trying - and failing - to put some distance between the two of you. Not that you wanted space, you wanted  _no_  space between the two of you. You wanted to be  _all_  up in his space. But the slightly sober part of your brain decided to bring your insecurities rushing to the surface.

“I don’t…” you sputtered, your tongue thick from the wine, which only made you aware of the partially-filled glass in your hand. You made quick work of drinking it, setting it onto the table where your feet had been propped recently. “We hardly know each other. Besides… it’s not like you think I’m… pretty or anything.”

“Now, you know that’s not true,” he cooed, his finger tracing along your jaw and neck. His crystal eyes were darting over your face; first your eyes, then your lips, each of the micro-expressions that flashed through you the longer you sat there, under his gaze.

“Do I?” you questioned, the wine fueling your inhibitions, making you slightly bolder.

Stephen tilted his head and cocked his eyebrow. “How do you  _not_  know? I haven’t been able to stop looking at you.” His rough fingers had fallen to the strap of your [ ** _sequined dress_**](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Flh3.googleusercontent.com%2F-GYv-RWVa9D4%2FWlJfMy4JgNI%2FAAAAAAACMrQ%2FnVnhQv8eW1kSDj5_etBEmvCdA98f96xzQCL0BGAYYCw%2Fh1080%2F2871278637998099781%25253Faccount_id%25253D0&t=ZDRjNWM0ZTgxNTBkYTc2ZDA4MTRkZjVmOWMwM2E3ZDkyZWIxNTc4ZCxzT2hoQ05NYQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AUajanByVJFqfn7QTGkY67w&p=https%3A%2F%2Fi-dont-do-rpfs.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F169437465970%2Fhappy-new-year&m=1), sweeping back and forth, one nail tucking under the strap, scraping your skin in a way that sent an intoxicating shiver down your spine.

Your brain went fuzzy and you tried to bite back the moan that was bubbling in your throat, but the wall that you had sloppily built in a drunken haste was starting to crumble. Stephen couldn’t have been telling the truth, could he? You went through your memories of the prior six hours, of all the times that you thought you had imagined the weight of someone’s eyes on you, the handful of times he had started walking across the large room, in your general direction, only to have one of his  _fans_  grab his arm and fawn all over him.

“You uh… you have?” you rasped, fingers itching to feel the hair on his face bite into your palms, for starters.

Stephen chuckled and his eyes darkened. “Y/N, you’re all I can think about,” he admitted, voice gruff, low in his throat.

You had something to say, you were sure of it, it was right there on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t find it. Now, that could have had something to do with the fact that Stephen’s mouth was covering yours, nipping at your bottom lip, swiping his tongue across the offended flesh. Or it could have had something to do with the fact that when you opened your mouth to him, a growl rumbled low in his chest when your tongue greeted his, the two of them moving together intimately.

Stephen’s hands were on your hips, squeezing marks into the skin as he pulled you onto his lap. You melted into him, sighing at the brush of the expensive material of his pants against your inner thighs. You carded your hands through his hair and gave an experimental tug. Heat rushed through you at the way he responded; growling your name, yanking you into him hard enough to drive the air from your lungs, all powerful and possessive.

When you tore your mouth away to moan, Stephen took the opportunity to graze your neck with his teeth, biting into your pulsepoint, his beard burning your skin. His hands disappeared under the flimsy hem of your dress, his callouses scraping against your skin like sandpaper as they ventured up your thighs, circling ‘round your ass, and digging deep into your flesh.

“Been dyin’ to feel you,” Stephen grunted as you rolled your hips.

You could feel the heat of his hardening cock through your panties, and it only made your body tighten in both appreciation and anticipation. “How much do you wanna feel?” you purred, lips next to his ear, catching on the fleshy lobe.

“All of you,” he groaned, his hips shooting up, digging the zipper into your pussy.

Whimpering at the bite of metal through cotton, you nipped at his ear, and quickly discarded the bow tie over your shoulder milliseconds before ripping open his shirt. Your nails were scraping over his chest while buttons were still skittering along the floor.

You were busy unbuckling his belt when you gave your permission. “Touch me.”

Stephen sneered in an unbelievably sexy way, and it was as if your panties evaporated under his touch. His thumb was circling your clit and two of his fingers were three knuckles deep, pushing you higher and higher until you thought you would pass out. His cock was velvet-smooth and rock-hard in your fist as you pumped him, twisting around the head, smearing thick beads of pre-cum over the sensitive flesh.

“Fuck… Stephen, please,” you were begging pitifully, your legs trembling as the orgasm he had you chasing started to crest. “I need you to fuck me.”

“Damn, Y/N,” he groaned, his cock twitching heavily in your hand. “I do love that dirty mouth of yours.”

You were sick of the playful banter. You wanted his cock, and you wanted it since the first time you met him. With your bottom lip between your teeth, you moved away from his hand and lowered yourself onto his thick cock. God, he was so perfectly fucking proportionate, and you could feel every vein that throbbed against your fluttering walls.

There was a single moment, right when he was seated, buried balls deep in your weeping pussy that you felt overwhelmingly complete, like you were an incomplete puzzle, and he was the missing piece you had been searching for. And then, in a split-second, the moment passed.

Stephen grabbed your hips and rolled them before surging up to kiss you, his tongue invading your mouth, frantic and desperate, matching the pace he had set. All you could do was hold onto his shoulder and the back of the couch as he fucked you, pulling your body down to meet his, feet spread for leverage as his hips launched off the couch, sending a wet slap of skin echoing through the room. It was all appreciative grunts and groans, you wanted to sob from the sheer intensity of it, being gloriously fucked to the point that you weren’t even sure what your name was anymore.

You were right at the precipice, teetering on the edge when he bit your shoulder, sucking on the skin, pulling blood to the surface without breaking it. You soared over the edge, launching yourself into the blinding light, getting lost in the starbursts, in the way his cock swelled and pulsed, how he was grunting and his hips were jerking as he came.

It was unclear how much time had passed before you could feel your bones again. Stephen’s hands were on your back, moving in slow circles, and his lips were in your hair, kissing, murmuring soft reassurances. With a small groan, you tipped your head back and caught his lips in yours.

“Happy New Year,” you breathed, your nails raking through his beard, smirking when he leaned into your touch.

His smile was lopsided and adorably nerdy looking. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”


End file.
